One More Night

by Jennifer Mckenzie

  “So, Owen—” Sparrow looked at him in her rearview mirror, a bright gleam in her eyes “—tell me about yourself.”

  Owen knew that gleam. It was the one all mothers got around him, which was why he tried not to spend time with their daughters unless he was sure things were going somewhere. Up to this point in his life, he never had been. He smiled. And yet here he was, of his own volition, even enjoying the interrogation, gentle as it might be. “My family is in the food and beverage industry.”

  Sparrow raised an interested eyebrow. “Organics?”

  “We try to source locally as much as possible.” That wasn’t even a lie. “I’m actually very interested in seeing your farm.”

  “How wonderful.” Sparrow’s grin lit up the interior of the vehicle. Owen saw Grace relax just slightly and was glad. He didn’t like seeing her look so tense, although he had a few good ideas of how to help her get relief. None of which included her mother. Perhaps he’d have to put that hallway to use after hours.

  It was a quick drive to the farm. Sparrow chatted the whole way, telling Owen about their farming techniques, how they tried to use those methods that put the least strain on the land. “And you’ll have to try some of my nettle tea.”

  “Sounds delicious.” It didn’t. But he’d drink an entire pot of the stuff if it meant he got a free pass down the hallway.

  They turned up the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires. There were vines and plants along the sides, their leaves reaching out and rustling as though to say hello. It could have been creepy, overgrown and derelict, but everything was well-maintained and pruned to allow full bloom, offering a cheerful representation of what the land could provide when treated right. A large tomato bobbed as they passed, looking ready to fall off and splat on the ground.

  Sparrow parked in front of a large, traditional-looking farmhouse. Traditional in the sense that it was a typical build—peaked roof, cedar siding, windows and a door. But that was where tradition stopped. A massive wood carving in the shape of a tree with a bird on the branch sat by the front door. The curtains in the windows were a variety of colors. Red in one, blue in another, a multicolored stripe upstairs. The siding was striped, too—purple and green, yellow and orange. Only the door remained untouched, a glossy oak that gleamed in the twilight.

  The scent of dirt and water hit Owen as he climbed out of the SUV. “You don’t have to drink the tea,” Grace murmured when he held her door for her.

  “I don’t mind.” He closed the door behind her. He wanted to take her hand, but he didn’t want to get shot down. Not when things had been going so well.

  Grace looked as though she was about to say more, but Sparrow was already opening up the hatch and pulling out their luggage.

  “Let me.” Owen hurried around to help.

  “I’d tell you I could manage and that a woman is just as capable as a man, but I can tell you’re not the type that needs reminding.” Sparrow grinned and put a hand on her hip. “With you, it’s good manners.” She looked past him to her daughter. “He has good manners.”

  “He does.” Grace came around to stand beside him. Owen wasn’t sure if it was to support him or get support from him, but he didn’t mind either way.

  “Good. You should put that on your list. And good teeth. People underestimate good teeth.”

  Owen tapped his own, the product of three years of braces. “I floss every day.” Then he looked at Grace. “You have a list?” He pulled out both bags.

  “Gaia...Grace, sorry, sweetheart.” Sparrow closed the hatch of the SUV. “Grace has a list for everything.”

  Owen wondered what else was on that list.

  “Tall, in shape, educated.” Sparrow counted them off on her fingers, the silver rings flashing in the setting sun. “What else is on there?”

  “He doesn’t have to be educated.” A slight blush colored Grace’s cheeks. “He has to be intelligent.”

  “Does one year of university count?” Owen asked.

  Grace merely looked at him, the flush on her face growing brighter. She looked beautiful, slightly out of sorts and very much as she had when she’d been in his arms, head thrown back, thighs spread. Owen felt his already piqued interest increase.

  Sparrow either didn’t notice or chose not to mention it, declaring that she thought any postsecondary education should count. “And traveling. You can learn a lot by seeing the world.”

  Owen had that one down as he’d done plenty of traveling over the years. He’d even lived in Australia one winter, working in a vineyard and getting to know all the pretty sheilas. He didn’t mention it now. “I want to hear more about this list.”

  “It’s not a list.” Grace reached for her bag. “It’s just some thoughts, some private thoughts,” she added, glaring at her mother, “that I had.”

  “Shouldn’t have written them down and left them sitting on the table.” Sparrow led them up to the front door. She pushed it open. “Unfortunately, no one else is up to say hello. Farm hours, but I know they’ll look forward to meeting you at breakfast.”

  “They eat at six,” Grace told him.

  “On purpose?” Even now that he’d become a responsible, hardworking employee, Owen only saw 6:00 a.m. from the back side. He was pretty sure if his alarm ever went off that early he’d throw it out the window.

  “We work farm hours.” Sparrow flicked on the lights as they moved through the house. The sun outside was no longer high enough to breach the windows. “We get up and go to bed with the sun. Speaking of which, I need to get some sleep. You help yourselves to anything you want and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She hugged Grace tightly and then Owen. She smelled like earth and leaves. A hardworking, outdoorsy scent. “I’m glad you’re here, Owen. You be good to my Gaia.” She whispered the last part.

  “Always.” Owen met her gaze and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He had plenty of plans to be good. Or bad. Depending on your definition.

  Sparrow patted him on the cheek. “Good.” Then she headed up the stairs, leaving him and Grace alone in the quiet house.

  “Are you hungry?” Grace asked.

  “Not really.” At least, not for food.

  She nodded. “I’ll show you to your room.” They moved up the stairs and tread lightly on the steps. It was dark, the only light a thin sliver under one of the doors at the back, but even as he watched, it went out. Sparrow had been serious when she said she was going to sleep.

  Grace stopped at the first door on the left and flicked on the light. “The guest room. But you don’t have to stay. If I had the option, I wouldn’t.”

  “You don’t have to stay, either. My offer stands. We’ll go to a hotel.” They could get room service, run a hot bath, wear those fluffy hotel robes. Really, he could be content just imagining her naked under the robe. At least, until she was ready to admit she wanted more.

  “I can’t.” She actually looked sad about it. “But just because I’m stuck doesn’t mean you have to be.”

  “I don’t feel stuck.” He reached out to reassure her, catching her hand and giving it a light squeeze. “Really.”

  “Then you’re a better person than me.” She sighed, but didn’t pull her hand from his. “You’re going to give my family the wrong idea.”

  “And what idea is that?” He had a few. In fact, he’d be willing to share those right now. He tugged her forward a step and lowered his head toward her.

  She didn’t back away. “That we’re dating.”

  Her blue eyes seemed darker in the thin pool of light that came from the guest room into the hallway. Less Caribbean Sea and more sky at dusk. “That’s one of my ideas,” he told her.

  “Owen.”

  He waited for her to tell him that she couldn’t, that it was against her office policy, her business practi
ces, her religion. She didn’t.

  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He didn’t let go of her hand when she started to shift away, heading down the hall to her room. “You could still see me tonight.”

  From what he could see of the room, before he’d turned all his attention to Grace, the guest bed was large and had plenty of space for two. She was more than welcome to join him. He leaned closer, inhaling her scent. The jeans she wore made a man think of peeling her out of them and that fitted button-down shirt only highlighted her soft curves. His palms itched to touch.

  He reached up to brush her hair away from her neck and traced a finger along her pale skin. He saw the small jolt that rocked her. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.

  “Tomorrow.” And there was a breathlessness to her tone that he was pretty sure could only be interpreted as interest and a sad attempt to hide it.

  “Tomorrow,” he agreed, running his finger back up and along her jawline. Her skin was soft, so soft. He wanted to touch it everywhere, touch her everywhere. He settled for smoothing his thumb across her lips. And then, before she could shy away or break the moment, he kissed her.

  Just a gentle press of lips, a brief meeting that was over as soon as it started, leaving behind a promise.

  And because Owen had some practice, he knew now was the perfect time to step back. He backed into the guest room, keeping his eyes on Grace. “Good night.”

  He was rewarded by seeing her hand flutter up to touch her lips. “Good night.”

  Owen watched her walk down the hall, her hips swinging in those tight jeans, and wondered if he should follow her or wait for tomorrow.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  GRACE FLIPPED OVER her pillow and pressed her cheek to the cool fabric. It didn’t help. She was still hot, still bothered, still far too aware that Owen was just down the hall. Was he awake, too? Tossing and turning? Or was he fast asleep, disengaged from the day and resting for tomorrow?

  She turned onto her opposite side and gave the pillow a karate chop. That didn’t help, either. God. She shouldn’t even be thinking about this. She should be annoyed that he was here. She should have insisted he leave. If not for her sake, then for his. But no. She’d allowed herself to admit that it was nice to have him around.

  Of course, there was no guarantee that he was staying. Owen hadn’t faced the full force of Sparrow’s personality yet. Like when she got on one of her rants about local eating and how global markets were ravaging the farming industry, how many fruit varietals were already extinct because hardier hybrids with longer growing seasons had overtaken the market. Or when she talked about how it was people in cities, out of touch with where their food came from and only interested in saving a buck, that were the source of the issue.

  Maybe before tomorrow evening rolled around, Owen would be long gone. Not even to a local B and B, but all the way back to Vancouver, where crazy ladies with dirt under their nails and sandals made out of hemp didn’t yell at him. The thought made her sad, even though that was silly. She had no reason to feel that way or even miss him. Or his kisses.

  She did her best to distract herself, checking her phone for emails and making notes about things she needed to handle in the office next week, in the hopes she might tire herself out. But it took a long time before she finally felt sleepy and her eyes felt gritty when she woke up the next morning.

  Grace didn’t need to check the clock on her phone to know that it was earlier than any normal person would be up. She considered herself an early riser. She took a 7:00 a.m. Pilates class Monday, Wednesday and Sunday and was in the gym by 7:15 a.m. other mornings. But at Cedar Sparrow Farm, that was considered sleeping in and good only for people who were sick or otherwise infirm. Which was why her mother was banging pots around in the kitchen downstairs.

  Grace stretched and rubbed her eyes. The banging in the kitchen would eventually end, but her mother wouldn’t give up. She’d knock on the door and barge in if Grace didn’t answer quickly enough. Even if she did answer immediately, there was no guarantee that Sparrow wouldn’t push her way in anyway.

  As much as she’d like to lounge in bed, there was really no point. She flipped back the covers and shivered as the cool morning air hit her. Nothing to get her up and moving like a blast of frigid air.

  Grace could hear the continued banging as she pulled on yesterday’s jeans and a fresh T-shirt. She didn’t bother to shower, even though starting her day without one made her feel as if she was forgetting something. She only took enough time to wash and moisturize her face and brush her teeth.

  The door to the guest room was open and when she peeked inside as she passed, she saw the curtains were open and the bed made. She found Owen at the round kitchen table, laughing as her mother served him pancakes.

  “Well, look who finally decided to join the living. Did you have a nice rest?” Her mother turned back to the stove, already ladling more batter into her skillet despite knowing that Grace never ate pancakes.

  “I slept fine.” She poured herself a mug of coffee from the pot and stood by the counter. “You’re up bright and early,” she said to Owen.

  He swallowed his mouthful of food. “Pancakes.” As though those were the answer to all of life’s questions. If only it could be so easy.

  Grace noted that he didn’t look tired at all. Clearly, she was the only one who’d spent half the night feverishly tossing and analyzing exactly what was happening in her life.

  “I thought I’d take Owen out to the garden with me this morning.” Sparrow slid her spatula under the pancake and flipped it over.

  Grace raised an eyebrow. The garden was her mother’s sacred space and one she only shared with people she deemed worthy. Grace had been out there exactly once. And though she knew it was silly, it stung a little that Owen had already been invited into the inner sanctum. She’d expected her mother to treat him with polite indifference, the way she treated all the city visitors who came to the island wanting to participate in the farm-to-table craze. “Great.”

  “Cedar is in the lower field today.” The lower field was on the opposite side of the 25-acre property from the garden and where her father nurtured his tomatoes and cucumbers. “He’s waiting for you.”

  Grace nodded and leaned her hip against the counter. She knew she’d be put to work weeding or pruning. She was going to need more coffee.

  “Sit,” Sparrow instructed, waving with her spatula before loading up another plate with pancakes.

  Grace didn’t want to sit. She didn’t want pancakes, either. “I’ll just have coffee.”

  “Gaia.” Sparrow shook her head at Grace’s cool look. “Sorry—Grace. Coffee isn’t enough to keep you going in the field all day.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  They had a brief stare-down before Grace relented. “Fine.” She would eat the pancakes. She felt foolish when she noticed Owen watching her. “How did you sleep?” she asked as she took the chair beside him. Anything to take the focus off the fact that she’d just engaged in what amounted to a teen rebellion. At thirty.

  “Great.” He reached beneath the table and gave her thigh a supportive squeeze. “Better now.”

  Grace felt a flood of heat travel from her leg to her face. She should pull away, shift her chair out of touching range. Instead, she reached down and put her hand on top of his. Then very slowly removed it.

  And told herself it was the right thing to do.

  Her father greeted her with a hard hug when she made it down to the lower field, already feeling slow and thick from the pancakes her mother had practically rammed down her throat.

  “Hey, Dad.” She hugged him back. Although her mother insisted Grace call her parents by their first names, feeling it was important to their locus of identity, when Grace was alone with her father she called him Dad. Because that was who he w
as. And since he’d never asked her not to, she figured he liked it, too. “How’ve you been?”

  “Oh, you know.” Her dad wasn’t much of a talker. In fact, her parents—birth names: Susan and Steven—had chosen their preferred names well. Her mother had a tendency to flit around, chattering and chirping the whole time, while her father was stolid both in build and behavior. Like a tall and stable cedar tree.

  “Where’s Sky?” Her brother still lived and worked at the family farm, though he’d moved out of the main house and into the guesthouse this spring. When he’d returned from his winter wanderings with a girlfriend in tow. A now pregnant girlfriend, according to her mother.

  “The shop.” Where the family sold fruits and vegetables, both fresh and home-canned, along with Sparrow’s nettle tea and offerings from neighboring farms.

  “With Laurel?” The girlfriend had changed her name from Lauren to feel closer to the land and her unborn child’s heritage, which was what she’d told Grace the one and only time she’d met her. But Laurel seemed nice enough, whatever her name, and she seemed to be a good match for Sky.

  Her dad nodded.

  “I’ll stop by later.” Perhaps that would give her an excuse to get away for a short time. “It’s good to see you, Dad.”

  Her father always made her feel more centered. Or maybe it was being outside and working with her hands. Not that she’d admit that to her mother. Not unless she was looking to hear a pitch on how she was welcome to come back to her roots and work at the farm. Which she wasn’t.

  They worked steadily until lunch and then returned to the main house to find her mother and Owen laughing away like old friends. Grace couldn’t remember the last time she and her mother had laughed like that. Maybe never.

  “Hello, love.” Sparrow threw her arms around Cedar’s neck and gave him an openmouthed kiss.

  Grace felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment at their PDA. It wasn’t that she thought her parents should be celibate or hide their love. But a little decorum wouldn’t go amiss, either. She couldn’t look at Owen.